An Uneaten Meal & Other Stories
by Ocean Mint Leaves
Summary: Post S5 collection. From a reincarnation fic to a needed conversation between Gwen and Merlin, everything that might tickle my fancy after the end. Spoilers from all seasons. No Slash.
1. An Uneaten Meal

*SPOILERS FROM ALL THE SERIES*

The finale. I've never seen something as heartbreaking and as beautiful in my life. I can't believe it is all over and I can only be grateful for having being a part of such wonderful story. This fic will center in post S5 stuff, be it a reincarnation fic, a conversation that Merlin and Arthur never had, a talk between Gwen and Merlin or anything else that might tickle my fancy. So there will be spoilers all over this, be warned.

First, one angsty ( can there be any other word for this?) little one-shot post 5x13. Bromance, Gaius and Merlin bonding and Gwen and Merlin bonding. Might end in a sour note but I really don't believe Merlin would've stayed. Please keep a box of tissues close and enjoy. :)

* * *

**An Uneaten Meal.  
**

Gaius waited for three days.

Two bowls full of the steamiest soup had already gone cold upon the little wooden table. Despite his Queen's desperate attempts to find both Merlin and Arthur all of the patrols sent came back with empty hands. During those days Leon often offered the aged physician his silent support, sitting with him and staring wordlessly at the two bowls of soup long gone cold.

On the morning of the third day Merlin walked through the door.

Yet _walking_ was not the word that Gaius would describe such action for it was underlined with such deep agony that he'd only seen that trembling steps on a dying man's last efforts to survive.

When Merlin raised his eyes to meet his and Gaius saw in the raw depths of them the broken side of him that no longer remained on this earth he _knew_. He _knew_ and with the revelation came the sudden thought of just how_ much_ his dear boy was stumbling.

He was not yet up from the table when Merlin collapsed.

Never had Gaius felt panic like the one cursing through his veins as he knelt beside Merlin and gathered his boy's head into his lap, pushing back the damp dark hair and feeling for a pulse because, surely, Merlin could_ not_ die on him as well.

It was the terror, perhaps, or maybe the numbness what took over when the fluttering pulse Gaius felt was barely there and he screamed, screamed for anyone who would listen to his heart.

Leon was there before Gaius even knew and the knight was the one who helped him place Merlin on his old wooden bed, it was him who ran to tell the Queen and then came back with her hand between his, her eyes full of tears that were both of dimming hope and terror for what she might learn. She cried besides Merlin's bedside when Gaius told him what he'd read in the deep hollowness of Merlin's eyes. That his boy was no longer whole and the King was gone.

There, by Merlin's bedside, the Once and Future Queen let out the first tears of many, clutching Merlin's hand between her own and begging him to wake up because '_I can't lose you too Merlin.'_

And in his heart, Gaius was begging his boy to hold on too.

He remained by Merlin's bedside even after Gwen was taken away by the call of duty and Leon informed everyone that Percival had returned with Gwaine, who'd lost his life for his king. He remained there, his heart on his throat, watching the way Merlin's face contorted in agony even in his sleep. He wondered briefly if Merlin had eaten during the past few days, three to be exact. Gaius knew he had not.

In the end, Merlin's eyes opened with the slowness that detonated an unwilling heart. He blinked up at the ceiling and then, without any sound or warning, slow tears began descending down his cheeks and he did not even attempt to dry them for it would be useless.

"_Merlin_." Gaius' voice was soft, unsure, in the quiet room. His boy did not look at him but sat on the bed, shoulders already shaking with silent sobs and not a second had gone by before the old physician found himself by Merlin's side, letting his boy lean down against his chest and cry there all of his impotence and pain.

He attempted to shush the legendary warlock even though he knew no words could ever be enough.

"When was the last time you ate, Merlin?" he asked, swallowing through the growing knot in his throat as he rubbed circles on Merlin's shaking back. "You're skin and bones, my boy."

"I don't remember." said Merlin's soft voice, damp with tears. "I fed Arthur all of the broth you gave me. He needed it more."

Another heartbreaking sob wracked Merlin's body and Gaius felt his heart broke at the sight.

"What _happened _Merlin?"

Merlin's hollow eyes shut tightly and he turned away from Gaius as if his mentor's honest concern had placed upon him another memory of soul-breaking loss.

And perhaps, Gaius thought, it was the truth. For whatever it was that he had awakened inside of Merlin it caused his ward pain like nothing he had ever seen.

He rested his hand on Merlin's head, willing his boy to stop hurting but knowing that, no matter how much he wished for it, nothing would ever take away from Merlin the hole that Arthur had left.

For Merlin was now a sundered coin.

"I told Arthur everything." said Merlin finally, his voice so low and faint that Gaius, even though his boy's head was right below his jaw, over his heart, had to lean closer to hear him. "I stayed with him and told him about the prophecy, about the times in which I saved his backside and never asked for anything in return. I told him about Balinor and Freya and-and about _the coin_. I told him that if he ever held me in any regard he should just take me now."

Merlin allowed Gaius to hold him tight against him as the old man's heart processed what he had just heard. He said nothing else as his mentor kissed the top of his head and murmured, in the softest whisper, "Oh, my boy…"

Memories passed through Gaius' mind and he turned to close his eyes, willing for them to just _stop_ but yet…

How many times had he seen in Arthur's noble eyes the same shade of desperation and hollowness (diminished but nevertheless _there_) that now would forever replace the witty spark of Merlin's blue eyes? How many times had Arthur expressed, in a voice as low and rumbling as a thundering storm so that no one but Gaius could hear, concern for Merlin's well-being when his ward disappeared for days without end and something inside Arthur's heart sparked to life, proved correct later on when Merlin appeared and related the life-threatening adventures he'd had, describing with precision what Arthur had felt inside him while they were apart?

As he clutched the thin boy tight in his arms Gaius couldn't help but wonder what Arthur would have done were he the one living and Merlin the one torn away.

"I don't remember much after that." Merlin told him then, as if talking could somehow help with the never-ending pain. "I was half-dead by the time I finished and then- then I had a dream."

_Gaius,_ Guinevere had said that day in the tents as they both tended the wounded; _Whatever it is that Merlin went away to do I believe something's happened to him. This will sound strange but…but Arthur woke up saying Merlin's name last night and I've never seen him as frantic._

"Will was there." Merlin murmured in the same soft tone of a man enduring a mortal wound. "And so were Lancelot, Elyan and- and Gwaine. And my father and Freya. And….right beside me was Arthur."

A shudder trailed up Merlin's spine and his eyes, dead and hollow as a moonless night, sparked to life, if only for a mere moment as he pronounced Arthur's name and whatever memory he held inside his heart brought forth more fresh tears.

"He told me that he already knew everything, Gaius." Merlin said. But he never told his mentor how Arthur, no matter how incorporeal he had seemed, had crouched beside him in the middle of the heavenly scenery and told him with a trembling voice that he'd never deserved someone like his warlock to stand beside him, that he would never have enough to repay Merlin for his courage and devotion that, if he could, he would take Merlin with him because he knew the pain of being a sundered part of a coin, because he understood and felt the incomparable horror of being apart…

He never told Gaius of how Arthur thanked him for holding him in those last moments, of how much he regretted calling Merlin a coward when they last saw each other on that sun-bathed evening before the battle and said with a sympathetic light in his pale blue eyes that the only reason he'd done it was because he could not imagine spending his last minutes on earth without Merlin by his side.

_'I didn't want to die alone.'_ Arthur's glorious figure had whispered in his ear, and it was as if he'd needed for Merlin to know that. '_You are and will always be the bravest man I've ever known Merlin. You are.'_

_'I needed you with me on that battlefield my friend. If only so that I could see you one last time before the end.'_

He never told Gaius about Arthur's sun-like smile and eyes, about the radiance that came from every part of his glorious body, as if his golden heart now shone from the inside. He didn't mentioned how he'd bowed his head and cried and asked once again for death to take him and how Arthur's strong, calloused and warm hands grabbed the sides of his face when he tried to bury it in his friend's chest and let himself go. His King's glorious eyes glimmered with a hundred different thoughts as they burned holes in his, with that hypnotic gaze that could make the bravest of warriors back down in fear but that contained immeasurable affection when he fixed it on his warlock's tortured eyes.

_'No, Merlin.'_

"What then, Merlin?" asked Gaius, and it was as though his voice belonged to other time, other life in which Merlin was just a shadow of what he once had been and he barely heard it.

In his dream- though he'd always think it more than that for he knew in his heart that it was Arthur's doing, as one last desperate attempt to console him and aid him- he'd paid no heed to Arthur's words and closed his eyes, admitting that he could not go on.

_'I need you Merlin._' Arthur had whispered, holding him with the same strength he'd held his King in Arthur's last moments, letting his cheek touch Merlin's hair and placing one warm and luminous hand in the base of Merlin's too thin neck. _"It took me long enough but now I know that without you I am nothing. So don't you dare give up on me now you idiot. Because I'll need you to be there when it's my time to go back-'_

Then he'd told Merlin with that low and commanding voice of his the last truth, the last sacrifice destiny was asking of him, trying to soothe his dear friend with his words after it dawned upon the warlock and it became an almost unbearable burden.

'_You'll stay for me Merlin, you hear me?'_ Arthur had said, almost crushing him against his shoulder in an attempt to help him with the uncontrollable shudders that now wracked his too thin body. '_You'll stay and you'll __live for me__."_

This glorious, majestic Arthur did not have to say it out loud. One glance into his father's eyes, standing respectfully aside, told him what he'd known in his heart since the beginning.

_You are and you will always be._

'_Do you know what you are asking of me Arthur?_' he'd whispered into the warm, alive shoulder of his best friend. And Arthur had grasped his face between his hands once again and looked right into his eyes with those sky-blue eyes of his that now held within all the wisdom and light of bliss after death.

'_I know, my friend._' The Once and Future King had said, leaning so that he could press his forehead to that of his other half, whispering in the faintest of voices._ 'I'll remain here too, remember?'_

Bonded together because of destiny and pulled apart because of fate. Merlin knew then that not even the bliss of being in peace could take from Arthur the same hollowness he felt, the same void that was now so wonderfully gone with Arthur's otherworldly eyes staring so deeply into his, and that his dear friend was to suffer the same fate as he did, not being able to go with him but staying on the other side of an invisible veil that separated and broke them both.

"Then Arthur told me that I was to wait for him Gaius." He told his mentor out-loud, closing his eyes again and willing himself not to break down as he spoke. "You do know what Emrys means do you? It means_ immortal_."

Gaius stiffened and his hold became almost crushing when Merlin's words reached him.

"Merlin…."

When the full truth had first dawned on him he'd shaken his head almost frightfully; trying to turn his gaze away from Arthur's commanding eyes_. 'I can't do it, Arthur. I can't.'_

_'Merlin, look at me. Just look at me.'_

But he could hardly look at Arthur through his tears and suddenly it was not only Arthur but also Freya, his father, Elyan, Lancelot and Gwaine; all of them surrounding him as if they were trying to give him strength through the light of their eyes…

_'Mate, you are being awfully emotional about this.'_ Gwaine had commented with that cheery grin of his.

If he'd being in any less catatonic state then Merlin would've laughed at the exasperated look Lancelot gave his fellow knight and Elyan's low and rumbling, _'Shut the hell up, Gwaine.'_

But Arthur, who was always irritated by Gwaine's antics, did not even spare a glance at his brave knight, choosing instead to hold his warlock's gaze with his own as he pressed a hand to his friend's neck, as if he's attention was devoted to Merlin and Merlin only.

_'It's going to be alright, Merlin.'_ said Lancelot, he, too, stayed behind, as if there was an invisible line that divided Merlin and Arthur from the rest of them and that none could cross. '_You were always the greatest of us all. If there is anyone able to do it is it you.'_

The almighty warlock lowered his head so that his brow would touch his King's glowing shoulder and whispered what was meant for him and only for him. Because for Arthur that phrase became true. '_Not without you, sire.'_

_'It won't be easy,'_ Arthur had said in his ear. _'But it won't be impossible. And I promise you Merlin, I promise you that I will find you again. No matter what I will find you. Always.'_

* * *

He'd always thought that the revelation of his magic would shake every bone of his body and, to be accepted as he was now, would fill him with overwhelming joy.

However it came as no surprise to discover that, even if Gwen now knew and she whispered into his ear that she couldn't thank him enough as she held him in a crushing grip, did nothing to soothe the wound that had been dealt so cruelly on his soul._  
_

Gwen asked in the place of Arthur. He now sat besides her as he explained to her everything in the way he had always imagined he would do with Arthur, watching her eyes grow wide and full of a pride that he'd longed to see in Arthur's eyes since the beginning, watching as she once again embraced him and whispered that, "_none of us ever deserved you, Merlin."_

In the end, they mourned together, side by side, and though Merlin hardly shed any tears ( he had almost none to spare) Guinevere knew that the hollowness in his eyes spoke of a grief deeper than what she could ever begin to understand.

.

Guinevere announced that she would repel the ban on magic on the second day after Merlin's arrival.

She held his gaze with hers as she told him, quietly, that she would do everything in her power so that the injustice and cruelty of Uther's purge could be forgotten, so that magic-users could leave in peace amongst the rest of the people. Merlin had embraced her and thanked her with heartfelt warmth but yet the hollowness in his eyes only increased.

* * *

Eventually, as silent and as soft as the winter's breeze, Merlin left.

Guinevere never knew if it had been day or night when he'd done it. She never knew if he'd meant to say any last goodbyes between their late talks beside the fire, she never got to tell her friend how much she loved him for being who he was. Gaius assured her that Merlin already knew.

Merlin had left behind everything, an uneaten meal, a_ sidhe_ staff and his beloved magic book, even his bright red neckerchief that now Gaius held as his greatest and most valuable possession. He told Gaius that, should Camelot ever need him he would be there but that, for now, he needed to be alone.

Yet Gaius never saw his ward again, not until his last breaths were near and a hooded man came from the shadows to hold his hand and whisper to him with the given name of _'father'_ and he saw those bright blue eyes shine below the hood. As Merlin had always predicted, once Morgana was gone and the resentment of the wounds Uther had inflicted upon the Old Religion lessened countless druids and men, amongst them one named Gilli and another one named Iseldir, took it upon them to protect the city of the Once and Future King.

Camelot became the City of Hope it was always destined to be and Guinevere ruled justly and fairly and she was later known by the name of Queen Guinevere the Magnificent *, a title that she later would give her late husband, declaring that he deserved it far more than her.

And, by the lake shore, Merlin waited.

* * *

*Narnia reference. :D

I really don't think Merlin would've stayed but rather protected Camelot from afar. As much as it breaks my heart it is my headcanon. :')

We all need hugs right now so hugs for you all. We can get through this guys, we can.


	2. Never The End

**Leonarema:** _Most definitely._ It may be heart-wrenching and terribly sad but it is, as well, terribly beautiful. It showcases their relationship in ways that you wouldn't believe. We have the magic reveal, as well.

Thank you so much! And please, don't feel guilty for being a 'fickle' reviewer. :D As long as I know that you liked it, that's alright. :) Thank you. And yes, I won't stop writing ( I guess now AU?) future fics. :) Just so that I can try and help you heal your broken heart *nudge* I have one going on right now. (future fic! I mean.) You can find it on my profile page, it's called 'Beacon in the Night.' :)

_A/N:_

One of the things that break my heart is that Merlin will wait for Arthur thousands of years, alone and consumed by sadness. Then, as I thought about it, I came to the conclusion that Merlin, no matter how powerful he is could not have survived all of history's tragedies without help. And also, there are too many instances during British History in which Arthur could/ should be needed again. If only for a few moments.

(Thank you, WHAP- World History AP- I knew you would be necessary some day! )This is set during WW2. By 1942, all male British subjects between 18 to 51 years old, as well as all females 20 to 30 years old resident in Britain, were liable to be called/ drafted. Only a few categories were exempted, between them, students.

Angst. Bromance. *sighs.*

* * *

Please open your eyes  
Nothing is wrong  
You were not left behind.

- VNV Nation. 'Left Behind.'

* * *

**Never The End.**

"Mr. Parker."

The scattering of paper preceded the old professor turning around to face whoever had just entered the classroom in the late evening, almost night, and had spoken with such softness. The man before him, wearing the same faded shirt as the last time he'd seen him, was certainly someone whom he'd never expected to meet again and to see him now, paler and wearier if it were possible, seemed like an impossible dream that he knew could never be.

The name left his lips with the uncertainty of someone who does not know what to think. "Arthur Kipling."

The blond man said nothing as he stood before that old desk in which he'd become one of Mr. Parker's brightest students, the golden boy that held all of the University's hopes in his brilliant head, the man who could very possibly become the next most outstanding member of parliament.

Yet, now that he took his glasses with trembling hands and placed them upon his nose Mr. Parker could see something else underlined the young man's handsome features, a quiet heartbreak that would be hard to miss, even for the most unobservant of men. His cheeks, once flushed with color and excitement, were now devoid of their rosy color and his bright eyes that had once held within their blue hues more courage and wisdom than what Mr. Parker had ever seen in other human being were now hollow and tortured, as if this man was now a veteran of war. Which, Mr. Parker realized with a start, he _was._

"I_ never_ expected to see you again." Mr. Parker recognized with all honesty and his voice echoed in the massive room, resounded within the walls and reached Arthur Kipling's tall figure.

"I know." The young man answered gently and, for a little while, that tortured gaze brightened when he offered his old teacher a small smile. "I thought I owed you an apology."

Silence. It was in that same room with barely lit light bulbs that Arthur Kipling had rushed in one night and told his old mentor that he would not be continuing his studies. The boy then had spoken with such rushed excitement and fervor that Mr. Parker thought him delirious but, to his great surprise, the next day Arthur Kipling had dropped out and was already gone.

"I owe you an apology." The wayward man continued, "Because you never knew. I never had the chance to tell you. And you've always done so much for me..."

Mr. Parker felt his busy eyebrows rise up in almost comical confusion and he guided his cane towards the man that he'd once thought a surrogate son. "My dear boy you have nothing to apologize for. Sometimes life gets in the way-"

"Do you remember-" the young Kipling interrupted, placing a large hand upon his old mentor's shoulder and licking his dry lips before continuing. "Do you remember that, when the war started, you told me that the draft did not apply to me? As a promising student…you said that I would do far more if I remained focused in my studies than if I went to battle."

Studying this young man's youthful face that had been so full of courage and faith and was now _oh_ so weary and constricted with pain, Mr. Parker could do nothing but frown. "I remember…yes. And you agreed with me."

Arthur Kipling's eyes brimmed with a thousand emotions, so ancient and soul-rooted that Mr. Parker, for once, was left speechless.

"I thought it would be better." said he. "I thought I would be of better service that way. I thought I could _find him_ after the war was over. But he was always such an idiot. Never listening to me."

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you're talking about, Arthur." The old professor said, scrutinizing with his eyes the sudden paleness present upon his once-student. "What happened?"

What could've been so devastating to place such a shadow of pain and horror upon his once-prodigy brow, to devoid each part of Arthur's countenance from his once regal air that spoke of a noble and kind soul? What had happened during those short hours between the evening class and the dawn for Arthur to run away and throw himself into a war that he should've not fought?

And Arthur explained to him, in that quiet and barely lit room, about Merlin. He talked about a man that was great, and mighty and so very _brave,_ that had endured more than no other man could ever begin to imagine and that had never deserved to be taken away from the silent lake of Avalon to a place where Arthur, had the evil of the world not called him from slumber, would not have been able to follow.

"I saw a picture of soldiers sent into battle that same day in which I went away. I would recognize that lazy posture anywhere as I've spent almost my every waking moment with him back in-" he stopped talking and shook his head and Mr. Parker looked at him, confusion etched in every wrinkle of his aged face.

And, after a short pause in which his soulful blue eyes told Mr. Parker everything that his words could not ( of a home and a life once lost, of an unspoken promise as ancient as time itself.) Arthur Kipling went on.

"I knew it was him." The spark of light in his eyes returned. "So I went to him. I had to. I could not let him go into battle alone, not when he never left me."

The light of the sun filtered through the tall windows of the classroom and the professor, shaking his head and offering his student a smile said, "I would like you to continue, Arthur, but I should be heading home right now."

"I understand." said the young Kipling softly. He rummaged in the worn backpack he carried for a moment before handing his old mentor a piece of worn paper. "I've written it all down for you."

The old professor turned back towards his wayward student, who was looking at him with blue eyes that spoke of a thousand different emotions and heartbreaks, of a long lost part of him that he had left long ago. His hand did not stutter as he held the paper towards his mentor and waited for him to take it.

So, naturally, although his soft eyes were narrowing at the strangeness of it all, Mr. Parker took it and held it tight in his fist. "You didn't have to do that, Arthur." he told the young man, "I understand the meaning of duty."

"It was not duty what made me join the ranks, Mr. Parker." said Arthur Kipling softly, gently, as if it hurt to admit it. "It was him."

Mr. Parker felt an erratic emotion shake his heart when his eyes connected with those of his dear student and he saw, in the depths of them, how true that small phrase was.

"This means a lot to you, Arthur, doesn't it?" He said, swallowing through the sudden tightness of his throat. "Why don't you come tomorrow so we can discuss it thoroughly?"

A knowing though suffering smile lit Arthur Kipling's face.

"Sometimes destiny is fickle." he said.

And that was the truth. A few days later, as he was lecturing, Mr. Parker learned that Arthur Kipling was no more.

He'd died putting himself in the path of bullets meant for civilians.

That night, when he reached home between the counting of the death and the hissing of the bombs, the old professor pulled the wrinkled, worn paper from his nightstand. He willed himself not to cry over a man that was worth more than any other he'd ever met and carefully unfolded it, reminiscing the stylized handwriting of his favorite student, whom he'd held higher than any other and whom he'd regarded as a son.

_You might think me mad professor Parker for dropping in the middle of the semester. But you must know that there was little I could do. Perhaps you'll never believe me and I don't blame you. That's alright. But you deserve the truth. _

_I had no choice._

_Merlin and I…we were separated by destiny but either way I always remembered him, no matter how much time had passed. It didn't matter if I'd opened my eyes in the middle of a broken Albion that was now divided and torn and that needed a savior, it didn't matter if it was in the middle of a plague that was killing half of my people. My first memories were always of my distant past, of my sweet Guinevere and my brave knights and of him. Of Merlin. Always, as soon as circumstances were propitious, I began my search to find him again._

_Perhaps it is fate's sense of humor but I believe that, now, whenever I find myself on the earthly plane again, it is for me to save him as he once saved me. Because…all this time it hasn't been Albion who's needed me but him. Just as I needed him throughout my reign and just as I held on to him during my darkest times now it is me who's here to return the favor. _

_As soon as I understood that Merlin, the bravest man, the idiot, had gone to war I knew that I needed to follow. Years and years of fruitless searching were behind me as I made my way towards him, first drafted and then sent to the battlefield._

_I found Merlin, as I always have, when he needed me the most._

_I never expected him to join the actual army. Not really. I thought he would use his gifts to aid the weary and dying, his skill as a physician that had only become greater as the years passed, and his compassionate heart. I thought…_

_I never expected to find him on that battlefield. _

_He was never good with weapons. Not even I could teach him to wield a sword properly. He was not built for this kind of gruesome battle. He was not built for this._

_Of course he was shot down at the same moment I screamed out his name._

_He smiled at me, that same idiotic smile from my memories, and then the shot rang and suddenly he was tipping over and I was too far…too far to reach him._

_But I did. By God, I always will._

_I thought I was too late. During the bubonic plague he'd gotten himself sick while trying to eradicate the disease and I stayed by his side until his fever died down. When he got himself lost in a storm it was me who found him. But for one small, terrifying moment I thought I was too late. Too late this time._

_The German who'd shot him already sported my knife on his throat._

_I could not be too late. I could not fail him._

_I could not lose him._

_ Not Merlin. _

_How was I supposed to return, one day for far more than a few years, to find my dear friend cold and dead and gone? _

_It is still I possibility I dread with all of my heart. A lifetime, no matter when or where, without Merlin._

_I hardly thought. It is an old habit to us, I suppose, to always catch the half that falls. I reprimanded him for being an idiot and told him to stay awake, to stay with me but it was all too much and too soon and he just smiled at me. _

_Just that smile….just one smile. It was all worth it then, Professor Parker. I know you thought I had the highest chances at becoming the brilliant student you always saw in me, maybe even a Prime Minister one day. But, even if once I guided Britain to prosperity it is not time yet. Not yet._

_Merlin survived the bullet._

_It took almost no time to convince Merlin's fellow brothers in arms to let me hold him though they were insisting (Merlin always had a way of gaining people's hearts, the idiot.); as if I would entrust him to anyone else, as if I would deprive myself of any of the few moments I had with him. I told them he was my brother. I told them that I had him._

_The war raged on but Merlin and I, we were blissfully spared of it for a few days. I stayed by his side, as he always did on that first lifetime in which both of us barely knew what would become of our bonded souls. I stayed until he was up and about again and then-_

_Then he was taken away from me. As he always is._

_And I, too, had a duty to my country, to my people._

_"Thank you, old friend." he said. And then he was gone, and so was I. I knew my time would come in months because he no longer needed me._

_We never say goodbye, though. Because it's not the end. It's never the end._

"It's never the end." Mr. Parker muttered to himself, wiping tears that he'd unwillingly shed as he read the worn paper, a paper that looked as if it had been written in the middle of battlefields and late nights in the campfire. His old eyes, so very tired, stared at his surrogate's son's handwriting before he placed his head upon his hands.

He did not know if he believed what he'd just read. But maybe, just maybe he could find some comfort in it.

_It's never the end._

* * *

Perhaps, now, it is _Arthur's _turn to protect Merlin. To give him hope. He'll have to wait for thousands of years, _alone?_ Nope. Nopidity Nope.


	3. Tell Me Now

This was the first thing that popped into my head after the finale but I took my time writing it. To understand this just ignore the last chapter. Arthur hasn't returned yet. :)

**WARNINGS:** This is a cross-over with Harry Potter. Hugs to all of you who are not Potterheads and will be madly deeply confused on this :)

Angst. (Wow, is _that_ new?)

* * *

"[ The mirror of Erised] shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most _desperate_ desires of our hearts."

- Albus Dumbledore.

.

Descend, and touch, and enter; hear  
The wish too strong for words to name;  
That in this blindness of the frame  
My Ghost may feel that thine is near.  
-Tennyson.

* * *

**Tell Me Now.**

When he'd been a young boy in Camelot Merlin could not see the reason for Uther's rage. He could see a man broken and lost but yet the hatred that pooled inside those eyes whenever magic was as much as mentioned had puzzled the young warlock.

Now, old and ancient though his skin remained as taut as it always had been, Merlin understood.

It had taken a man named Lord Voldemort so that he could see what Uther Pendragon had seen and his blood recoiled in horror as his kind was tortured and murdered by the thousands. He'd tried to take matters into his own hands once only to find that the _demon_ could not die.

He'd shivered at the ineptitude he saw when the Ministry of Magic did nothing to alleviate his kin, as terrified of the monster as only cowards would be. He'd howled and screamed in rage and his eyes- for the first time in centuries- had flashed gold as his magic lashed out and yet those cold men did not yield and not for the first time he suspected something as ancient as the _Fomorroh_ was controlling all of their minds. (1)

He vowed that he would stop the carnage, no matter what it took or how lonely he would be, and he hunt the demon down. Of course, his attempts brought attention over him and it wasn't long until those dark wizards had tried to restrain him with their magic, tried to kill The Emrys in defense of their Dark Lord.

As if Merlin would let himself die when Arthur needed him.

They'd left him for dead and since that moment The Emrys had cloaked himself in mystery. Many few men knew of his existence and even fewer knew his real name.

He was no longer Merlin, the _Mer_lin that Arthur would pronounce so distinctly in that way of his that used to make him chuckle quietly when he was a young serving boy and that now, whenever it echoed from his memories, made his heart ache. He'd had a variety of names, some of which humanity would forever recall, others which helped him walk unnoticed through the streets of that land that he and Arthur had built together.

Now he was Emrys, forever young and all-powerful. Yet not even his great power could do much against the hoards of witches and wizards that killed in that reign of terror.

That didn't mean he hadn't tried. And the rumors of the great man that acted as a guardian angel upon them all soon spread through the wizard community. He made his way through the darkest of times trying to alleviate the suffering as he could while keeping himself hidden.

In those days he often wondered if Uther Pendragon was rolling in his grave.

And what would Arthur say? He could almost picture his King perfectly if he closed his eyes and stood still and silent, letting an onslaught of memories wash over him. Arthur would urge him to fight on for what he knew to be right.

He could almost feel Arthur's whisper. '_feoht_' (2)

And so he did because Arthur's voice- even if he _was_ imagining it- always brought him courage. He fought for his kind, no matter if they were magical or not. Those loyal to The Dark Lord found their plans thwarted by a cloaked figure that struck terror into their very souls with its golden eyes and guttural voice. He was a shadow, a ghost in the dark, a savior to many and an acquaintance to none. Perhaps, Merlin thought, it was because of the unusual practice he'd gotten in Camelot, that he managed to keep his real identity secret and his face unknown. He was as ethereal as the shadows vanishing in the morning light.

That's why he was surprised at seeing a letter certainly directed to him, (or what was his name at the time) when he thought no-one knew he existed. The letter was folded neatly on the small coffee table near Merlin's favorite chair (one he'd gotten in the sixteenth century) and it read.

_Dear Mr. Thomas:_

_If it is convenient for you I shall visit you during this Thursday afternoon to discuss matters that, I am afraid, can be resolved only by your assistance. I should be glad to offer you a bottle of Madame's Rosmerta's excellent Butterbeer. I hope to find you in good health,_

_Albus Dumbledore._

And so, with the same curiosity that made him try that strange drink called _chocolate_ once and that Gaius had- in his treasured memories of Camelot- often complained about, Merlin hadn't moved an inch since noon. He tapped his fingers against the armchair as he waited, wondering how on earth would-

_Poof!_

His old chimney was suddenly engulfed in emerald flames and Merlin thought for one heart stopping second of _Morgana_ and her tainted magic although it had been decades since the thought of the witch had crossed his mind. However he only had a second to tense his body as his heart began racing before all of his fears were proven false.

"Ah!" said a man who'd just taken a step towards his Arabian rug and who had, apparently, _appeared_ in those green flames. He adjusted his glasses upon his nose. "I'm sorry about that. Sometimes I prefer flu than apparition though I always end up regretting it." almost absently he shook dust from his robes. "But one hardly learns from past mistakes…though we should _try_."

Merlin, perhaps for once rendered completely speechless, just stared at him.

"You must be James Thomas then!" said the strange visitor, smiling as if Merlin was a long lost friend. "It's a pleasure to meet you, I assure you."

Before Merlin knew what was happening the man was shaking his hand enthusiastically and patting his shoulder with that sincere smile still on his face. Many times throughout the years Merlin had seen people trying to imitate him – though they never knew that the great wizard with a soft white beard and staff was nothing but what he'd been in the battle of Camlann and what had forever stayed in the minds of the those who later told the story, they never knew that Merlin had been once young and beardless with a face that spoke of the highest loyalty and devotion- but this man, this _Albus Dumbledore_ certainly was the greatest imitator yet. His long silvery beard and piercing blue eyes reminded Merlin so _much_ of Dragoon the Great that it made his heart shudder.

"You are Albus Dumbledore."

The man hummed and nodded, taking one long wooden stick from his robes and waving it, two bottles appeared out of thin air.

"Yes I am." The man agreed, "I'm sorry, I'm being terribly inconsiderate. Could I take a seat?"

After Merlin had given his consent Albus Dumbledore sat down in a worn _Morris_ chair that dated back to the seventeenth century. With piercing blue eyes and a kind smile he uncorked the _Butterbeer._

"We've been searching far and wide for you Mr. Thomas." Albus Dumbledore said as he poured the liquid from the bottles into glasses that his robe shouldn't have been able to contain and offered one to Merlin. The ancient warlock took it, still trying to form a coherent thought.

"You- you are not from that _blasted_ Ministry, are you?" Merlin said finally, feeling his brows almost touch as he frowned and his nose crinkled.

Albus Dumbledore's beard tugged upwards and Merlin was certain that he was smiling. "No, I'm not." and then, with the simplicity one would ask for a cup of sugar, he said. "Actually, Mr. Thomas, I come on my own on behalf of an old friend. We need desperately the service of a _Dragonlord_."

When the word echoed in the small house, bringing with it memories of a long lost life, the warm fire coming from the chimney flickered and stuttered Merlin was so startled that the glass he held fell to the floor and, as his eyes sharped and fixed on Dumbledore, he could almost feel the dormant ability inside of him crawling and waking.

Dumbledore said not a word as Merlin knelt down and picked up the broken glass. He did not urge the tall, soft-spoken man to use magic. He just watched. Finally, from his place knelt by the fire place, Merlin raised his gaze. "I haven't heard that in such a _long_ time." said he. "I thought I never would hear it again."

He tried not to let his thoughts wonder. Because he would, of course, remember past conversations and Kilgarrah, and then, as inevitable and as overwhelming as the light of the sun, _Arthur_ would crawl his way back into his mind and with him all the sheer agony that he tried to repress each second of each and every day.

"We feared they were all extinct." Dumbledore said and if he saw the trembling of Merlin's hands he pretended not to notice. "But then we learned of you, Mr. Thomas._" _

"How?" Merlin's voice was harsher than he intended but he, frankly, did not care. While he was still picking the shards of glass from his Arabian rug Dumbledore paused, as if considering, before continuing, softer than before.

"Such power cannot be hidden forever, my _young_ friend... _Reparo_."

The shards in Merlin's hands knit themselves together in less than what it took a heart to beat and a wrinkled hand took all of the warlock's vision when Dumbledore leaned over him and helped him stand. "Now," the old man said kindly. "I would like you to come with me."

"Where?"

"To the outskirts of Scotland," answered Albus Dumbledore with a twinkle in his kind eyes, "There are children there, Mr. Thomas, that need protection from the dark forces that have been let loose around our world."

And Merlin wondered if this man, for all his smiling and kindness, knew who he was. If he was, indeed, part of the that ministry that was as cowardly as Uther once was because there had never been one time in which he'd say no to children in need. Not in all his years wandering the world without his King.

"I assure you..." said Albus Dumbledore softly and Merlin raised his gaze to find the man's piercing eyes burning holes into his. "I do not intend any harm, Mr. Thomas. You can trust me."

Merlin, with a heart hardened by years of pain without end, wars and famines, and a soul torn open by a wound that would _never_ heal, found that his eyes were softening as the man spoke. Because there was kindness and honesty within his heart, a heart that reminded him of Guinevere.

"Yes," he said, without even realizing that he was saying it out-loud, "Alright."

Albus Dumbledore smiled and clapped his hands and the worn travel-cloak that hanged from an ancient coat hanger placed itself neatly over Merlin's shoulders. With a thin smile on his lips the warlock turned towards Dumbledore.

"How?"

"By Side-Along apparition!" Dumbledore said joyfully. "You must hold my arm tight. However, if your legs turn to jelly you must tell me immediately-"

"...Um. _What_?"

But he and Albus Dumbledore were already sucked into the night.

**...**

When the wind finally kept still long enough for him to breathe, Merlin found his feet were firmly planted on dewy grass and his hands shaking though he didn't know why. By his side, the tall and reassurance presence of Albus Dumbledore made itself known when the man placed a strong hand on the warlock's shoulder.

"Here we are, Mr. Thomas." he said. "This is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

And before Merlin's eyes there was suddenly a lake and a castle that brought back memories of Camelot's palace and loud laughter, of a prince and a manservant walking together through the sunlit corridors. He swallowed but could not look away.

"There are children inside those walls." Dumbledore said softly, "And Voldemort has targeted most of them, even if they are young souls that have done no wrong."

Only the winter wind whistled upon the hills when Merlin did not answer. But the coldness in his eyes, far greater than the one that had been there during the World Wars, said what a thousand words could not.

"We know Voldemort has dragons between his allies and if all of these innocent lives are to be defended...Mr. Thomas, we need a dragon as well."

* * *

They had no need of him, not really. Merlin knew that. These dragons were not the magical beast he had known, they had evolved and eventually became only empty shells of what they had once been. None of them could conjure magic as ancient as time and spin riddles. None of them had the gift of prophecy and none of them sought him by name as Kilgarrah once did.

But he did it anyway.

A dragon egg was a rare find, Dumbledore said, and Voldemort had the loyalty of most of the dragons and their off-springs as well. So when he had acquired a egg-shaped rock that happened to be a dragon egg there was nothing else in his mind than the need to hatch the creature.

But the egg could not be hatched.

And so it fell unto Merlin to try and use his long-forgotten tongue so that the ancient creature would see the light. It happened right beside a forest and centaurs, hidden behind the shade of the trees, stood and watched. With a roar that came from the deepest part of his soul Merlin called for the dragon and gave it a name and then a cry broke the stillness of the night.

If Dumbledore and the tight-lipped woman by his side noticed how James Thomas' eyes swirled with gold they said not a word.

(Merlin never knew it but, later on, that same dragon he'd hatched and named _Cathascach (3) _saved three young wizards by breaking through the glass-ceiling of a Bank.)

* * *

On that same night the sky darkened and the ceiling trembled.

At Merlin's inquisitive look Dumbledore simply answered, "If there is one thing that Voldemort cannot conceive it is defeat. He won't stop trying to take Hogwarts. And I fear that, one day, he might find a way to fool us."

There were children in that castle. There were young men and women with lives ahead of them, lives that would be crushed in an instant if Voldemort ever managed to penetrate the defenses that kept the darkness at bay. For the first time in a thousand years Merlin held out his hand and looked directly into the eyes of Albus Dumbledore as he said, "Let me help you. I can fortify the spells around the school. _I can make them stronger_."

The man nodded and Merlin turned as he chanted. Invisible tendrils of golden magic shivered in the air and surrounded the sleeping children that lay, unaware, in their beds. Albus Dumbledore looked on and when Merlin turned with a paler face and brighter eyes he walked towards the legendary warlock and said, "Come on, Mr. Thomas. I think we both need a cup of tea."

But the warlock Emrys shook his head. There was far too much to do and he could not- would not- waste time in something as trivial as a cup of tea. With a sad smile and a glance at the gold and bronze ceiling the warlock asked Dumbledore to show him '_every last remnant of the castle so that he could extend the enchantments upon everything and everyone.'_

When Dumbledore had fulfilled his request at the best of his capability and the ancient words of the Old Tongue were whispered upon the library and the east wing, the highest towers and the open grounds, there was hardly any space that hadn't been touched by The Emrys' magic. For years without end, that same legendary essence of Merlin would make Hogwarts one of the safest places on Britain.

But, as Albus Dumbledore would one day tell the tight-lipped teacher that was Professor McGonagall, Merlin still had one more room to open, one more chamber to bless with his presence.

The mirror was there, in the corner of the bare room, almost as if it was waiting, almost as if it was glad. As he chanted and touched with his forever-young hands the stone walls of the chambers, Merlin did not even notice it.

He stopped only when he caught part of his reflection on the mirror and saw the tired, sad eyes of a man that had lived a thousand lives and perhaps he only wanted to narrow his eyes at the discordance that they were, an anomaly, for his face was as young and as handsome as it ever was and his eyes- those old, tired pupils- had lived and died ( not only death could kill. ) a thousand times. Sometimes, he wondered if other people could notice it too.

But then he saw- instead of his haggard and pale face- something else entirely.

Yes, he saw himself. He saw a tall, lean man with black unmanageable hair and eyes that spoke of a tragedy far greater than what anyone could imagine. He saw the worn cloak that he'd bought during the fifteenth century and his lips, trembling as they formed a name he hardly dared to say out loud because it only represented false and cruel, heart-stopping hope-

It was_ him._

There he was and Merlin could not stop himself when, with a cry that he muffled with his hand, he let the name slip past his lips and linger in the air,

"_Arthur?"_

And the glorious apparition at the other side of the mirror nodded and mouthed carefully _'Merlin'_ as if he, too, wanted to reach through the glass and touch his warlock. But instead he settled for placing one arm around Merlin's reflection and squeeze, almost too hard if it had been real, Merlin's shoulder.

Arthur looked at him with sorrowful eyes and his lips formed the word again, _'Merlin.'_

The warlock muffled a sob and suddenly he no longer cared about Dumbledore standing silently behind him, he no longer cared if his secret was finally revealed and the Dark Lord hunted him for this was _Arthur_ and he was calling him and Merlin had not seen him in _thousands_ of years and now- for the very first time since Camlann- he had set his sight upon that which was most precious to him.

How many times had he closed his eyes and squeezed them until it hurt just so that he could picture Arthur again, awake him from his memories, so that his King's face would act as a light upon the darkness of the trenches, as a beacon in the carnage that was war and famine and witch hunts...

He'd been so afraid that time would erase his recollection of Arthur. That his memory would eventually fail him and he would never again remember the way he laughed, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the clumsy way his King would ruffle Merlin's hair and the way he frowned when something worried his noble heart...

Yet here he was and he was as young and strong as Merlin remembered him and there was not one detail that Merlin hadn't guarded within his heart. He walked forwards, barely daring to hope that it was real- and his fingertips brushed the cold, _cruel_ glass.

The arm that was around Merlin's shoulder tightened and the warlock choked a sob when he felt nothing, not even a gust of wind, around him. But soon Arthur raised his own hand- the right one, with the scar in his forefinger, Merlin realized- and touched his own fingertips where Merlin's were pressing the glass so hard that it was a wonder it had not broken.

"Arthur, _Arthur_..."

He felt hot tears spill from his eyes as he blabbered the name. And as soon as he knees gave out and he knelt on the cobblestones Arthur fell by his side, looking at him with pity and a tenderness that Merlin had never seen in his eyes. He mouthed something again and even if Merlin could not hear it he nodded, for he knew Arthur was asking him to be strong.

_Feoht._

_"ic cunnan, mín aldfriþ." _(4) he answered quietly, so softly that he barely heard it. But his King smiled and his eyes twinkled from the other side of the mirror and Merlin knew that, somehow, Arthur had seen what was in his heart.

It was then when it occurred to him and his soul shuddered with a joy that left him paralyzed for the smallest of moments before he pressed both palms to the cold glass and closed his eyes- therefore not seeing the way Arthur did the same and looked at him with the deepest sadness before he bowed his golden head.

But the hope that had sprung within Merlin and rooted itself in the briefest of assurances was roaring inside him, a roar that soon became a stream of words from the Ancient Tongue as his eyes burned with the strength of a thousand suns and he tried to break the fragile barrier between them, to dissolve the glass that kept The Emrys and The Once and Future King apart.

Yet, the glass remained unyielding.

"No..." when he looked again at the reflection, inches away from it's surface, he found Arthur's eyes locked with his own and though he did nothing but look at him Merlin knew that all of his powers- all of his talents- were worth nothing. Nothing, because Arthur could not return to him.

"_No!_"

_"It is of no use, Merlin."_

The hand upon his shoulder was not Arthur's even though his King was still clutching him in a vice-like grip on the other side of the mirror. Albus Dumbledore knelt before him, real and solid, and spoke with a softness that reminded Merlin of Gaius, "What you see here it's not real, dear boy. You cannot do anything."

Not even realizing that Dumbledore had used his name in his pain, Merlin pressed a hand to his lips, "Please don't- There must be...I have to..."

"This mirror, " continued Dumbledore, relentless. "is The Mirror of Erised. _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohs. _It is as dangerous as it is uncommon. What you see here is only the most _desperate desire of your heart_, dear boy."

Swallowing the tears that burned his throat though they still fell down his cheeks, Merlin whispered, "_Arthur._.."

He turned his head so that he could look at Dumbledore and found that the man's eyes were glimmering though he didn't dare to think they were tears. "I understand, Merlin."

"You don't..." The Emrys whispered sorrowfully. "No one can."

"It is true, that the legends refer to you as 'two sides of the same coin.'" said Dumbledore gently, piercing with his gaze Merlin's gaunt face. "And perhaps I know not what it feels like to be entwined as you are but I've known loss and death and I know what it is like to live without what is most precious to you."

As if he knew how true his words were, Albus Dumbledore said nothing more. He placed both arms around Merlin's young form and let the man cry silently for he knew that maybe Merlin hadn't done so for thousands of years.

"How do you know my name? " asked Merlin finally, once his shaking shoulders had stilled and his hands stopped trembling. A warm smile answered him as Dumbledore's beard tugged upwards.

"The golden eyes were not as subtle as you would like to believe." he said gently, " Besides, I am certain that Geoffrey of Monmouth recorded Merlin as the last of the Dragonlord in one of his letters. People sometimes dwell in the wrong details...and forget to look into the important ones." his hand squeezed Merlin's shoulder with the touch of a father. " Your face may not be old as some legends say Merlin but your eyes speak of your grief."

Merlin bowed his head as the man spoke. He'd never met anyone that could see the never-ending centuries written on his eyes. He knew he was still young-looking and handsome, that was why most people did not look beyond the smooth skin and into the grief-filled eyes that told _everything_.

"I've waited for years without end." he admitted, never-once looking away from Arthur's reflection, whose eyes resembled Merlin's very own. "I've waited for him and I've done so gladly. But now...I just don't know what to do anymore."

"This was not in vain, was it, my dear boy?" said Dumbledore, "All of these years you've benefited us, wizards and muggles alike, in ways that could not be possible. Don't you see? Today, thousand of children will dream without fear because of you. In centuries past, many innocent men and women were saved from a cruel death thanks to your courage. Your wait holds a purpose, Merlin. You must not forget that."

_'courage'_

Arthur's grinning face flashed before him and with him the memory of a small man, a dear friend and a bridge.

"I've waited so long..." he murmured, wiping his tears. "I'm tired...I am _so_ tired..."

"I have faith." said Dumbledore, handing him a patterned handkerchief. "that the Once and Future King will rise again. You must hold on to that knowledge, Merlin. Sometimes, it is our only light in the middle of our darkness."

Merlin raised his eyes and the hope that he saw in Dumbledore's made his heart beat faster for he knew- perhaps even more so than him- that Arthur would return to his warlock once again, when the time was propice.

When he glanced once again at the was his heart's most desperate desire, Merlin smiled.

"I'll see you again, old friend." he whispered as he pressed his forehead to the cold glass and Arthur bowed his head over his from the other side. "I'll see you again, _mín broðor_. (5) I'll wait for you."

And he did.

* * *

(1) Merlin's not that far from the truth. They were controlled by the Imperius curse, actually._  
_

(2) _fight_ in Old English.

(3) Irish name that means 'vigilant.'

(4) Old English. "I know, My King."

(5) My brother.


End file.
